in the hall of mirrors

Flashes

A long day, with flashes of light in it, crossing before and after the full moon.

Analysis, this time in Manchester, which means going to the train station early, realized I hadn't bought a ticket in advance, bought one fast at the machine, got going, arrived, we talked about dreams...

But the day did have a certain lightness, a sort of weightlessness about it that was pleasant. Sat and talked to Felicity afterwards in their new apartment – they've only partly unpacked, but it's on a top floor. I told her it seemed like a Scandinavian watercolor – lots of clean wood furniture, bright but pale sunlight through the windows as she worked at the table.

They were going to a new film by the people who made Les Triplettes de Bellevue – but it would have made me take an incredibly late train, I'll see it another time.

On the train, two subcontinental boys, who evidently didn't speak much English, sat quietly across from me with luggage; tried to help them get their connection – my phone couldn't get a signal, but at least they were reassured (I think? how many words did they understand?) that it would be easy to find their way to Bradford from the Leeds station.

Reading some poetry, sleepy, but the train had gotten quiet; dozing off and on...

And the train was delayed – half an hour or so; but soon before we were finally to get home, a young man walked by in a startlingly fashionable shirt – a sort of loose cowl-collar t-shirt that seemed really fairly avant-garde; and beautiful, blond with a fuzzy beard, and muscular – he must have chosen the shirt to show off his summer body.

When we finally got off the train shortly before eleven at night, I saw him with his buddies, all of whom were wearing similarly odd but stylish clothing (the low crotches on the pants don't work as far as I'm concerned, but okay that's what they're selling this year). And all of whom were in shape and tanned, with interestingly cut shirts that showed off muscles from various angles – but not I think gay, just, well, metrosexual I suppose. Nice to see: a bit of beauty, as self-consciously constructed as girls used to be...

Of course one doesn't watch for too long – so it is for the older gay man! – but it's nice to see anyway.

Sunny

Two days in a row of actually steadily sunny weather – hot, by Newcastle standards (above 70º, a bit at least). Lovely... a tendency to sit outside at cafés and talk, and eat...

And the men of northern England (and perhaps the women, I haven't really noticed of course) are looking their best: this is the time of year, around August and September, when they seem relaxed, muscular, handsome. Okay, well, some of them at least.

And yes, I know: other places, from San Francisco to Zürich, have had blazingly hot summers – well it hasn't happened here, most of the summer was rainy. I still think the rich of Switzerland and Monaco will be elbowing us out of our homes in a decade or two... all right it's a joke. Maybe.

But everything seems relaxed and sunny, as does the day... with all the geographical and temporal resonances of those memories: how many places the sun has seen, far more than I of course, no competition really.

No doubt, this fall, when classes start, I'll regret not going away somewhere fun. (At lunch, a woman asked: so do you miss your students in the summer? My yell of astonishment... how could she think such a thing?) But the days have been relaxed enough – despite all the procrastination over the work I want to finish before November – that I do feel as though I am still on break from the most onerous aspects of life.

And maybe, depending on medications and moods, Christmas will happen somewhere else....

Hint

A hint, a subtle sense of summer: in many places it is very hot this summer, but not here. Here it has mostly been cool, actually cold and rainy – I joked as we left Alfred's apartment that the southern Europeans would all move here if climate change made the Mediterranean a sauna – or, more probably, rich Swiss bankers would buy up all the houses for themselves to move here from the Alps, and we'd be standing in the North Sea.

When we went to eat in an Italian restaurant in North Shields, a gentle subcontinental maitre d' stopped when he saw me, said he hadn't seen me in a long time, and was I well. I answered as best I could – I'm not sure we could have met at all (have I ever been in that restaurant?), but the attention was welcome. We touched arms when I left, with slightly surprising and comfortable intimacy...

Seasons came in again, when Charles started a renga on Facebook, and I tried to follow... you're supposed to maintain the seasonal references; when he interpolated a summer/autumn line I didn't manage to keep it quite in focus, but did work out two lines on climate change, which sort of counts. For our degenerate (?) era, anyway.

But tonight the windows are open, because the temperature isn't dropping: it stays pleasant, a sense in the air that one would want to be here, now.

Seasons, time, encounters, pleasures of moments: hints – or a particular hint? – in late August....

A few words

After this period of sparse blog entries – and me feeling a bit guilty for not keeping this up – Romi phoned me tonight to make sure I was all right (she lives out of town in Northumberland, and we don't see each other often – she actually glances at this blog occasionally to see how I am).

Which is lovely of her... and no I'm not giving up on the blog, and no I haven't written anything since Zürich, and yes things are fine, basically.

The good bits: I'm in better health than for I've been a long time (thank you Jambo), Zürich went well (I have some photos to put up), it has been a quiet summer; my intentions have been to FINISH some research bits once and for all. I have mostly procrastinated, but at least I have little to do but procrastinate, so that keeps me from easily justifying not working.

 The unamusing bits: I haven't done much though some things are nearly gone for good (wouldn't it be a blessing if I could get help to finish the so-dreadfully-overdue book on Gerhard!), and I really want them all out of the way because, annoyingly, I will have to start a nasty medication this fall – interferon, for either three months (if it fails) or eighteen months (if it works) – and have calculated my calendar so that the best time to start it is in early November. Have warned department head, etc., so it should all go smoothly. And am very much hoping not to take antidepressants thank you very much, we'll see how that discussion (argument) goes (normally you're expected to take antidepressants if you go on interferon – but I'm in good shape... we'll see).

Oh, and the weather is chilly and rainy – it is in fact an exceptionally rainy Northumberland summer: I think that as the rest of the planet heats up we might expect our relatives from far and wide to start angling to come live with us, don't you think?

Reserve your places now.

And Mom is fragile – the blunt truth is she may not be with us for much longer. Which makes me constantly wonder if, or when, I should be going home for a visit.

The useful bits: finish the research (see above), and my analyst says above all I should be doing something creative: write, draw, paint (even with as little skill as I have drawing or painting, nobody has to actually see it).

Or, of course: I could be creative by – writing blog entries!... hmm, yet another blog entry that circles around to its own topic.

Therefore I promise you, though I may or may not be boring at times, that I shall speak up a bit more.

Continue to have a lovely summer – see you around....